


Lying in Wait

by moreculturelesspop



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Always Female Dean Winchester, Blood, Childbirth, Childbirth fetish, F/M, Female Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Male Castiel/Female Dean Winchester, graphic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 15:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30007290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moreculturelesspop/pseuds/moreculturelesspop
Summary: Deanna goes into labor during a storm.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 22





	Lying in Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings VERY graphic childbirth and then some sugary love confessions. 
> 
> Purely self-indulgent.

Cas hates to see her in such pain, writhing on top of the cheap cotton sheets they had laid down. Her belly was swollen and full, her hand splayed on top of her flannel shirt. She winces in pain as her soft, supple skin hardened under her touch. She lifts her shirt up to feel the contractions. He places his hands on top of her belly, feeling the muscles clenching beneath his fingertips.

“It’s okay,” he reassures with a low voice. She doesn’t reply, instead, she turns her face away from him and moans into the pillow.

Outside the cabin, the storm rages on. When they left the bunker the winter sky was blue and crystal clear. She was going stir crazy cooped up inside, the fights it was causing were not healthy for either of them. Ice and hail rains down on them, echoing on the tin roof of the out-house. He tried to get them out but when the pains came, he feared she wouldn’t make the drive home. That’s when they discovered the little run-down cabin on the edge of the forest. It was warm and it was dry.

She is released from the pain, turning back over to face him. Her legs are trembling and beads of sweat resting at her hairline. He sits awkwardly at the side of the bed.

“This fucking sucks,” she pouts.

“I’m sorry,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I shouldn’t have taken you here. We should have stayed closer to the bunker. We should drive to the hospital.”

She tiredly shakes her head. “No!” She takes his hand on hers and rubs at his knuckles. He should be comforting her, not the other way around. He wonders if he should ask Deanna if there was some else to text. Sam knew and she called Jody in tears as he set up the bed. Was there a man who should be informed of his impending fatherhood? She had been vague and avoided the subject her whole pregnancy. Sam even accused him of being the father at one point. She gasps in pain again.

He has a stabbing pain in his chest. Neither of them knew what they were doing. Cell service was down, and Deanna was being extra stubborn. The storm has worsened since the hale started earlier. Now thunder was crackling in the air, lighting illuminating the sky. “You’ve been reading those books,” she tells him. He had read every book ever printed in every language known to humanity. He had scanned every forum, watched every video.

Deanna’s face crumps up, fear seeping into the lines around her face. She digs her short nails into his arm, her breaths coming ragged and sharp. The cabin had towels and sheets, although poor quality Cas had done what he could to cleanse them. The fire has been lit, embarrassingly Deanna had to teach him to make it work between contractions.

Deanna stiffens beside him on the bed. “Oh, God. Not another one.”

All he can do it grip her hand and listen to the wind howling outside. He sees the trees swaying in the gale, can hear the creaking of nature as it’s forcefully beaten by the elements. He’s thankful the log pile has been left high, the fire the only comfort they had asides from each other.

Deanna stars to pant, her fingers clawing at his arms. Her belly is quivering against her shirt, her lips are parted and her eyelids heavy.

“Oh God… oh God, oh God, oh God…” she begs, clenching her body. Her legs are quaking with involuntary strains, gasp in the attempt to catch a breath. A dark, red stain seeps across the crotch of her jeans. He can feel his heart pounding in his throat.

“Let me see,” he says with a gulp. “Is that okay?” he asks. She nods, her body limp like a ragdoll. His heart is racing looking at the blood-stained denim. He unbuttons her jeans with a shaky hand, hooking his fingers in the waistband and yanking them down. Her panties and thighs are stained with red. He looks away, embarrassed at seeing her so vulnerable. No number of books prepare you for the moment in real life.

He finally hooks his hands in her grey cotton panties and pulls them down. He had only ever seen one woman naked before, and he had never inspected anything beneath the waistband. Her center is slick with blood and amniotic fluid. “Should I check for cervical dilation?”

“I don’t care,” she grunts. He pushes her legs apart and positions himself between her legs. He brings his fingers up to probe her passage. She is hot and slick, her passage swollen. He inserts two fingers into the slit, he doesn’t need to probe long before he feels the hardness of her baby’s crown.

“She’s right there,” he tells her, removing his fingers.

“Get her out,” she grunts. “I can feel her.”

“She’s right there,” he reassures her. It felt incredible to feel unborn life in his hands. She’s starting to push, he can see her bulging and changing from within as her cervix stretched open.

“I’m pushing,” she cries. “I need to.”

“You do whatever you need to,” he says. It’s like she couldn’t hold back anymore, and he had now given her permission. Her whole body tenses and she gasps. Cas is memorized by her heaving chest, the plaid rising and falling. She holds out her hand, and he takes it. She squeezes him so hard, her knuckles become white.

When her contraction ends, her legs fall to the mattress and her hands to her side. She was laid bare for all the world to see, and he was both fascinated and embarrassed to look at it.

When her belly hardens, she braces her leg on either side of him. Her ankles hook around his hips for leverage. She is cupping her sex, moaning and grunting. He can see the way her legs tremble, her child slipping further down inside her.

He finds himself stroking her legs in an effort to comfort her. Her lips are swollen, as her daughter prepares to crown. “You’re doing so well,” he says. He can see a round teardrop where her child is starting to emerge. She lets out a long, sharp breath, trying to relax around the new sensations.

“Don’t leave me, Cas,” she gasps.

“I’m here,” he quickly reassures her. “You are doing so well.”

“I love you, Cas,” she gasps. He can’t acknowledge. He knows she is scared and in pain, she doesn’t mean it. She dips her fingers inside her passage, gasping a little. She must be able to feel her child’s head. She strokes it gently until the next pain comes. Alongside this pain comes a gush of fluid. “I’m sorry,” she cries.

“You’re doing so well.” He leans over and kisses her forehead gently. Her face is sweaty and an angry shade of red, but she has to know he’s there for her.

She opens her legs wide again and strains with the new pressure inside her. Cas watches in terror and amazement as her lips bloom again. The teardrop grows, the skull pushing against the soft, thin skin. Her hips are bucking and she is crying. He can’t help but gently cup his hand against her slick sex, white and strained with the crowning head. He can feel the pressure against his hand.

“Carefully,” he reminds her. Her fingers are clenched around the bedsheets, her body struggling from every new sensation.

“Get it out of me,” she begs. This delivery has to go okay. They have nothing but a basic first aid kit. No pain medication, no stitches, just some gauze and band-aids. He reaches the taunt area between her vagina and her anus and massages it. She cries out in pain as he tries to ease at their child. It’s no longer about lust or sex, he just had to safely deliver her child. They’d worry about the awkwardness tomorrow.

“Focus, Deanna,” he sternly tells her.

“Get it out,” she shouts.

“We’re going to wait until the pains come back,” he reminds her. He feels her muscles contract again and he reaches up to support the head as it begins to crown again. Her toes are digging into the bedsheets on either side of him. Her lips are slowly stretching over the round, hard head. She is pushing with all her might, reaching down behind her knees to haul them up to her heavy, panting chest. His hands are at her opening, waiting to catch her daughter.

He watches her body open in slow motion. The teardrop opens slowly to an orb size. The orb grows more than he knew a woman’s body could. She is pushing as hard as she can, the baby finally crowning. The forehead and brow appear in the next push. It takes three more pushes for the nose to appear. Two later the lips and chin.

He cradles the head between shaking thighs. The head moves with every pant Deanna does. Her face is bloodied and purple, and he has no idea if he’s doing the right thing. The next contraction surprises Deanna. She pushes with all the strength she has in her. No matter how hard she tried, and how much she grunted, the child doesn’t move.

“What’s wrong?” she gasps.

“You’re nearly there.”

The next push, coming almost without warning, makes her scream. It was a noise he rarely heard. Even whilst facing death she never screamed, gritting her teeth until the end. Her body is working hard to release her daughter’s body. He knows there is something he should do to help, but he’s terrified of hurting them. All he can do is cradle their head and stroke her thigh.

“What have I done wrong?” she wails.

“Bring your legs up, Deanna,” he urges, remembering the passages he’d read in his books. He helps her draw her shaking legs back as far as they can go. Her face is red and scrunched up in pain. Her frantic pushing comes to nothing. Cas scans his memory for something to help her.

“Pull her out,” she cries. Her face is almost white. She pushes again, her hips shifting, yet the baby does not budge. He knows the situation is desperate and he needs to do something.

“I’m going to push too,” he tells her. He feels along her belly to the pelvic bone. He pushes harder than naturally comfortable, he thinks he can feel the hard, bony bump of her daughter’s shoulder. The next time he feels her push, he pressed down at the flesh at the base of her hard belly. He lets out a breath as he feels the child’s shoulder body.

Her body is quaking beneath his shaky fingers. The shoulder slips out and then back in, sitting underneath her fingertips. She brings her legs down in tiredness, but Cas pushes the back up.

“I’m tired,” she grunts. “No more.”

“Deanna!” he sternly tells her. “I know this hurts, but you have to do this.” She grips onto her legs, one of them using Cas’ shoulder as a stirrup. He feels the shoulder under his hand again, it’s close to clearing the pubic bone. They push together but he can sense her strength is weakening. The child is wiggling inside her, slowing moving down her widening birth canal. He leans over and cups her face, letting a jolt of celestial strength coarse through her. He hadn’t used it earlier in fear of slowly her contractions down, but now they were getting desperate.

He could weep with relief, the shoulder slipping beneath the bone. But then she lets out a cry and fear enters his body again. The shoulders are straining against her swollen slit. Blood is seeping into the sheets, staining the cheap white cotton. He just shouts at her to push, ignoring her cries and her wails. Her muscles spasm and her legs slide back down the bed to sit at either side of his body. He leans down to instinctively kiss her shaking knee.

The baby is hanging from her tired body, waiting for the final contraction. He can finally marvel at how amazing the female body was. The child was born up to the chest, her arms trapped inside her mother. He ponders if he should yank it out, but he knows he shouldn’t.

“She’s almost here,” he whispers. He strokes the child’s chest, feeling the strong heartbeat under the impossibly tiny ribs.

The final contraction finally hits, her hips bucking as the rest of her daughter’s body leaves Deanna. The child is led on the bed, wiggling in a stick pool of pink-tinged fluid and dried blood. Deanna’s belly sinks, deflating like a popped balloon. The baby stares up at Cas and starts wailing.

“Is it over?” Deanna gasps, tears rolling down her face. Cas carefully takes the tiny girl in his arms and holds her out to Deanna. He uses his powers to safely cut the cord, not trusting anything in the cabin to be sterile enough.

“Congratulations,” he says. He moves to sit beside her, passing the tiny human to her mother. “She’s beautiful.”

“Hello,” she says, looking down at her daughter. The baby stops crying and looks up at her mother. “Thank you,” she whispers to Cas. She leans in and kisses him gently on the lips. He grabs a towel to wrap her daughter in and smiles at seeing the joy in Deanna’s life. “I’ve never had anything to myself before,” she says. “She’s all mine.”

“You’re going to be a fantastic mother,” he says. He watches the pure love in Deanna’s eyes as she strokes her daughter’s slick cheek.

“I meant it,” she says. “I love you. You don’t have to say it back but I thought I was gonna die there, didn’t want to go without you knowing.”


End file.
